


when he chases you across an ocean (keep him)

by Torra_Katze



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Aomine's a secret romantic, F/F, I just wanted to write this and get it off my chest, Kise's modelling gets in the way of snuggle-times with Aomine, M/M, for real though, he hopped on a plane with Kagami and Kuroko to chase down Kise, not much in the way of actual pairing interaction time, of course he's a romantic, these are my OCs, this is based on a dream I had today, very self-idulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torra_Katze/pseuds/Torra_Katze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise's invited to appear for the first time in America, only... he has to give up his holiday with Aomine.</p><p>Or does he...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	when he chases you across an ocean (keep him)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so basically I just got finished rewatching Kuroko no Basket, and I had a dream during my nap today where Kise gets invited to model/party in America, but Aomine gets left behind and Kise's sad. Except, then my OC (who's never been a model in _any_ of my previous AUs) shows up and tells him that Aomine actually is here, blah blah blah, it was really weird.
> 
> I don't usually do things like this, but I wrote it out anyway, and liked the idea, so whatever.
> 
> Edit: Torra Katze is my pseudonym, not my name. The OC in this story is where the name _originated_. She looks, acts, and sounds nothing like me, and is not in any way just me living vicariously through her. I promise :)
> 
> Rene Roth is also not my name, however, she is based more on me than Torra is, but seeing as how she never plays a major role in anything I write, I figured that was okay.

Ryouta’s in the middle of a party when he sees her striding towards him and thinks, _she looks like…_

It’s Winter Break back home. School’s let out for the holidays, and typically Ryouta’s hired to do a few local, themed modelling jobs, but is otherwise left alone to enjoy his break. This year, however, it seems he’s gained enough Japanese stardom to attract the attention of the Americans, because he’s called by his manager not even an hour after school lets out and told to pack a bag that’ll last a week; you’re going to _New York_. He’s incredible excited at first, and then he remembers what his original plans for this break were and his delight is doused like an errant fire.

He gets why his manager is insistent on why he _has_ to go: it’s good publicity, and now that New York’s back to being the world’s top fashion capital, better than being called by London or Paris, which just blows Ryouta’s mind—he grew up hearing _Paris this, Milan that…_ but this is also his and Aomine’s first winter _together_ , and he was looking forward to spending days and days with only themselves, some sort of alcohol, and a bed without a shred of cloth between them, and now Ryouta has to go get dressed up in _way_ more clothes than he bargained for _minus_ one Aomine. How is that fair?

Of course, he doesn’t outwardly show his disappointment to his lover, just saying this will be a great opportunity, but he thinks Daiki gets it anyway.

So he goes, obedient (and maybe still a little eager, he can’t lie) and does a few photoshoots with other up-and-comings. He’s hit amongst the Americans: he’s charming, he’s passionate and a pleasure to work with, and even though he’s fluent in English, his accent is apparently “adorable”. He spends three days in New York; one to work off the jet lag from travelling over the Asian and European continents and then the Atlantic, two to work. On the morning of the fourth day, he’s whisked to Los Angeles, where he’ll mingle at a couple of parties, network, then fly home at the end of the week to spend the rest of his holiday undisturbed, but still lacking an Aomine because the other boy will be out of town by that point, visiting relatives.

Now, here he is, watching someone sauntering towards him—perhaps not the figure he wanted, but familiar nonetheless.

“Torracchi…?” he greets in Japanese, smiling as the girl comes closer, “Hey, it _is_ you! Wow, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, because he still doesn’t know, but she seems to understand.

The girl is an American transfer that attends his school. Torra Katze. She insisted that everyone call her by her first name, despite how rude it’s perceived in Japan to do so.

 _I’m American,_ she’d stated, _and even more than that, I'm Southern. Calling someone by their last name is a sign of respect for your elders, or a title for people you don’t like usually. I’m not particularly fond of my last name, and you all like me right? Then please, call me Torra._

She comes to a stop at Ryouta’s side with a smile, “You didn’t know I had this kind of lifestyle? I don’t like to flaunt it, and I’m not really popular in Japan, which is part of why I attend school there. It was either that or homeschooling, and I don’t have the patience to learn things on my own like that. The real question is why you’re sitting over here with that sad look on your face?”

Ryouta leans back a little, eyes wide, “Was I really?” he looks down at his knees, bent over the edge of a lounger. A roar of laughter goes up from the crowd in and around the pool—really, it’s the middle of winter and they’re having pool parties? _Americans_ … at least it’s indoors…—and he feels more than sees Torra settle behind him in the empty space left on the long chair, “I didn’t even notice.”

Torra shrugs, looking out over the gathering with that unsettling red stare of hers, face impassive. Clearly, she was enjoying this party as much as Ryouta was—that is, not at all.

“It’s not really that noticeable, at least, not to these people.” She gestures a little rudely around them and Ryouta stifles a laugh, swatting at her shoulder softly.

“That was so mean, Torracchi! What if someone who could understand us overheard?” he giggles for a moment at her resulting shrug before taking in the full figure of the girl at his side. She’s wearing a two-piece, red bikini, strapless and sufficiently skimpy for a party like this. Her auburn hair is done down in a messy, but somehow elegant braid draped over her left shoulder, fly-aways framing her face. He knows she normally wears corrective lenses, much like Midorimacchi, so she must have contacts in to allow for the full force of her red glare. He _didn’t_ know, however, that she had a bellybutton piercing—and, he thinks privately, if the school found out she could get in trouble. A little circle crisscrossed with wires hangs from the stud, ending in a pair of pretty metal feathers. He’s curious to know what the charm is, and it must show in his expression because the girl jostles his shoulder with a smile.

“It’s called a dreamcatcher. They’re popular here; Native American symbolism and whatnot. You’re supposed to hang the full-sized ones over your bed, and they catch all your nightmares and give you good dreams instead.”

Ryouta coos, “That’s so cool! Aww, I want one to take home!” he pouts.

Torra laughs, “You can make them. There are tutorials on the internet, and they aren’t hard to put together. But, if you want, I can give you one of mine? I’ve got quite a few back in Japan that you can look through?”

“Aww, really…? Wow, you’re the best, Torracchi!” he flings his arms around her, feeling her startled laugh. He pulls back and raises a finger, “How about in exchange, I still learn how to make them, and I’ll make one to give to you? That way it’ll be like we’re real friends!”

Torra stares at him for a moment, silent, and he can’t help but compare her gaze to Kagami’s. They’re both like tigers: intense, stubborn… but where Kagami is fiery and hotheaded, Torra is cool like water, full of quiet ambition and predator instinct. He shivers, and almost misses what she says.

“I thought we were already friends. Was I wrong?” she asks, never taking her eyes from Ryouta’s. He frantically waves his hands.

“No no! It’s not like that! Of course we’re friends, Torracchi, that’s not how I meant it!” then he notices she’s laughing over his flustered rambling and he pouts again, “So meeeean…”

“ _Then,_ ” she sits up, overcoming her amusement, “As your friend, it is my sacred duty to save you from this party, and myself as well!” she winks at him and grabs his hand, hauling him from the lounger to go get properly dressed. She’s shorter than him, but he’s six-two, a lot of people are shorter than him—especially in Japan. She comes to just below his nose, well above the average height for Japanese women, standing at five-eight which is a bit weird for him because he’s used to looking much farther down, or a little bit _up_ considering whom his friends are. She’s one of the taller girls at school, too; she’s even a few inches taller than Kurokocchi (and probably the same height as Akashi, now that he thinks about it…) which admittedly made him laugh just a little when he brought her to Seirin to meet the Shadow and his new Light.

(Seirin’s ace seemed happy to converse with someone else who knew English as well as he did, barring Ryouta, who didn’t often speak in English, despite knowing the language well. It helped that the girl also knew quite a bit about basketball and spent a good portion of her time in L.A. when she was in America, even though she grew up in Texas.)

(Ryouta keeps the fact that he _still_ doesn’t know which state is Texas a secret, mostly because the few times she’s spoken about it, she’s seemed to carry a lot of pride for her home and he doesn’t want to insult her somehow by not being able to pick it from the other forty-nine.)

Once they’re in weather-appropriate attire, he follows her into one of L.A.’s plentiful taxicabs, and she rattles of directions to his hotel in English for the man driving the car. Ryouta narrows his eyes at her, but she only smiles coyly announcing in Japanese that they’re staying at the same place. She finishes with _there’s a surprise waiting for you_ before zipping up and refusing to elaborate anymore. He huffs and sits back to enjoy that ride.

When they get there—a Hilton or something, Ryouta doesn’t pay much attention to that kind of thing—she immediately grabs his hand and totes him to the elevator, instructing him to input his floor. He does so, and they’re lifted farther into the building. They practically stumble to his room, having started laughing just for the sake of it somewhere between the fourth and sixth floors. They’re bumping into each other and giggling breathlessly, immersed in the sort of hilarity that consumes good friends at random times for no reason. He misses the key swipe twice, inciting a new round of raucous laughter from the girl at his side, but he gets it the third time and when the door swings open on silent hinges, he starts wandering in, not even noticing Torra doesn’t move to follow him.

“What’s so funny?” A familiar voice asks from within the room. And then he _gets_ it: why Torra was being so secretive. Ryouta’s head snaps up and he’s graced with an eyeful of just the person he wanted to see. And shirtless too, mmm…

“Aominecchi!” Ryouta flings himself into the taller boy’s tan arms, now breathless for a whole new reason. He snuggles for a moment into Daiki’s bare chest, then with a sigh pulls away to stare somewhat incredulously between his boyfriend and Torra. “How did you _get_ here?”

Torra smirks and Aomine rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Well, Bakagami was already coming back for the holidays, so I asked if I could tag along. I told him I’d pay for my own ticket; I just wanted to come with. He told me not to worry about it and that his dad would take care of the tickets; he was already doing it for Tetsu, but now I _owe_ him one.” Blue eyes roll in their sockets with all the distain Aomine can manage. “Of course, then Torra found out cuz apparently she and Kagami were going to be on the same flight over, so she called her manager and he called _your_ manager so that I could get your hotel address and room number and all that sorted out.”

“It was kind of a mess, to be honest, considering you didn’t know you were going to be in America until basically last minute, which meant _he_ didn’t know until then either, so we had to scramble for an extra ticket. We managed in the end, but it was rocky on whether we’d be able to do it.” Torra inputted, leaning against the open doorway. “Kagami and Kuroko are staying at Kagami’s house not far from here; I’m staying two doors that way.” Torra indicated to the left with her head. “Surprise.”

“But,” Ryouta looks at Aomine, worried, “what about your family? I thought you were going to go see them this weekend? You were supposed to be gone the day before I got back.” Ryouta tries not to sound bitter, he does, but he might’ve failed a little.

“Ah, I still am.” Aomine admits. “My parents are gonna head out the same day, and I’ll be coming home with you and taking a train out there once we’re back. It’s all fine.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be heading back home for the rest of the holiday, then coming back right before school starts up again.” Torra steps away from the doorjamb. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but she’s interrupted when a quiet question in English comes floating down the hall. She turns to look at someone just out in the hall, and she holds out an arm to accept a body against her side.

It’s another girl, this one dirty-blonde with sleepy green eyes and a slightly shorter stature than Torra. Ryouta doesn’t recognize her until Daiki jolts and points at her with wide blue eyes.

“C-class Representative Roth…?! What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

Ryouta’s kind of known that Aomine’s Class Rep was a foreign transfer student—at least, he thinks his boyfriend might have mentioned it. She apparently has exceptional grades and people skills, allowing for her to be elected even though she’s from out of country.

The girl mutters something intelligible in English, burying her head in Torra’s shoulder tiredly. The redhead pats her on the back gently, “Rene and I have known each other since we were children. We grew up in Texas as next door neighbors, then started dating as freshmen at our American high school. We both decided to try and get into the exchange program with a few more of our friends. We all sort of got separated into different high schools because we each had different tastes as far as education goes, but we keep in touch and get together whenever we can. We’re probably all going to reapply for transfer visas again this year, probably try for permanent this time, as we’ll all be old enough to do so.”

Aomine studies the blonde girl curiously for a moment, taking in the hugely baggy shirt she’s wearing. It looks like a dress on her. Torra notices his staring and laughs, “It’s her dad’s. He’s a pretty big guy. Maybe not as tall as you, but definitely broader...” She shuffles Rene off her shoulder and back down the hall a bit, “Anyway, we’ll see you in the morning, or something. Maybe if you’re up early enough, we can invite Kagami and Kuroko over for breakfast and hang out for a while before Rene and I have to catch our flight down to Houston. You game?”

Ryouta could tell Aomine was down for a free breakfast, so he nodded at his friend and watched as she smiled in acknowledgement before pulling their door shut and leaving them in each other’s company.

“So…” Ryouta feels as Daiki’s fingers trail up his back, then shoulder, then neck and into his hair to fiddle with a lock of gold. The blond feels the instant the atmosphere in the room changes, and all the weariness he was starting to feel immediately washes away with a shiver. A curl of warmth starts up in his chest, then migrates down into his belly as Daiki’s hand brushes back down his spine to settle suggestively at his waist, “what do you wanna do now, _Ryouta_ …?” Aomine’s teeth clench with just the right amount of pressure on his earring and tugs, and the curl becomes a flame.

The blond doesn’t answer with words, but pushes his lover into the bedroom and slams the door on the sound of the blue-haired boy’s laughter.

They’re almost late for breakfast.


End file.
